


Paint & Ink

by SilverStudios5140



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Artist Reader, Established Relationship, F/F, Girls in Love, How Do I Tag, Lesbians, No Lesbians Die, No Plot/Plotless, One Shot, Romantic Fluff, Shimizu is a goddess, Short & Sweet, writer Shimizu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:14:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23580667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverStudios5140/pseuds/SilverStudios5140
Summary: She promises me her today,And I promise her mine,And we call it love.
Relationships: Shimizu Kiyoko/Reader
Comments: 1
Kudos: 40





	Paint & Ink

Kiyoko had never imagined that she would someday fall in love with an artist. She'd never given the type of person she'd want to be with any particular thought when she was still in school, but she had never really expected herself to fall for the creative type. Artists are typically extremely passionate and dedicated to their art, and she had been intimidated by that kind of passion, wondering if she would understand it if her partner were to harbor it. 

And, now, years later when she is older and wiser and has garnered more experience and knowledge, she still doesn't really understand. She has always thought herself to be a woman of logic, but (Y/n) has always danced just beyond her comprehension.

(L/n) (Y/n). Kiyoko's lover of three years now. A painter. An enigma. 

They'd first met when the both of them were in their final year of college, at an art gallery that Kiyoko had reluctantly accompanied her roommate to because she had nothing better to do. She couldn't say she enjoyed the place very much. Abstract art is strange and she supposes she's just never developed the taste for it, but she thinks that it is the slightly hollow quality of the long white corridors filled with empty people carrying empty wine glasses. 

And then she'd met eyes with the most alive thing in the room, and Kiyoko had momentarily forgotten how to breathe. 

Before they'd met, she had fancied that she knew herself. That she knew love. That evening, across the room, (Y/n) had smiled because she had known better when she approached Kiyoko like it was her mission to teach the black-haired girl the true experience of love and life.

And so, on the nights when sleep eludes Kiyoko and she is left with nothing but her own silence, (Y/n) becomes her lullaby and gently guides her back into sweet dreams filled with hazy pink lights and golden warmth that makes her think she must be seeing love. 

(Y/n) makes Kiyoko feel like she is drowning every time her lover speaks, drawn in by something far greater than her until she knows nothing but the words that escape her and the feeling on of (Y/n)'s lips on her own, taking away her oxygen but filling her with another type of life that is so addicting. 

Every kiss takes Kiyoko underwater, leaving her to float in an expanse of nothingness and watch entire galaxies bloom behind her eyelids. She tastes honey and wine, left intoxicated by the crimson that leaves (Y/n)'s lips to stain hers. 

Simply watching the painter is Kiyoko's favorite thing to do. She thinks (Y/n) is ethereal in her every move- sinful and holy all at once. Sometimes, she is convinced that the other woman floats rather walks even when she can see her feet moving. 

Sometimes, Kiyoko forgets (Y/n) isn't some otherworldly being. She is reminded, however, of the artist's mortality every time she touches Kiyoko. Her hands are always warm, and Kiyoko feels like they burn her skin every time they touch her, until (Y/n)'s fingertips are seared on her body, making Kiyoko hers like she will never be anyone else's. 

She has tried, a million times, to put (Y/n) into words. To turn the color of her eyes into poetry. To document the curve of her back in a novel. To transform the scars and marks on her skin into ones made by ink on paper. 

She has failed, a million times, to put (Y/n) into words. She is far too beyond Kiyoko, and the writer realizes this when she can no longer feel her bead and she is suffocated by the words choked in her throat. 

(Y/n) watches her and grins, smiling like she knows Kiyoko's puzzlement and finds great amusement in it even as she reaches for her paintbrush and lets droplets of white paint splatter, covering Kiyoko like she is her canvas, as (Y/n) connects the dots and forms constellations on her body, leaving her among the stars. 

(Y/n) calls Kiyoko her favorite work of art. She whispers it in the quietness of night, as her fingers glide over the dark-haired woman, exploring each curve, fold and crevice, tracing paths they have traveled a hundred times over. 

"There is nothing left to map," Kiyoko tells her and she laughs, telling her that no one maps their home anyways.

In the early days of their relationship, Kiyoko had thought her to be much like a siren. Now, she thinks, (Y/n) is her lighthouse. Always guiding her home.

Sometime, Kiyoko will catch (Y/n) staring at her too, and she knows the painter is attempting to turn her into a painting. Just as Kiyoko has attempted to turn her into poetry. 

(Y/n) says she would paint Kiyoko in blue, "Because the sky is blue and so is the ocean. They are both as beautiful as you, so all beautiful things must be blue."

She would add clouds of lilac. "Because I am red, and I am a part of you as you are of me, so we are both a little lilac." 

And white. "Splatters for stars. Because you are gorgeous like all celestial bodies are, and infinitely poetic like the night."

Her painter doesn't promise her 'forever'. She makes a promise of 'now'. 

They don't shy away from the truth. There is no way of knowing for sure whether or not they are already becoming a part of the other's past. 

But (Y/n) promises Kiyoko her 'today', and she does the same, and they call it love. 

"I don't know a lot of things," (Y/n) tells her, "but I will never love another like I have loved you. Because no one smells of ink and stardust like you do. And my lilac can never be made without your blue."

* * *


End file.
